The Liberator

BOSTON, FRIDAY, MAY 25, 1838.

TREMENDOUS EXCITEMENT IN PHILADELPHIA! RIOT AND ARSON.

The city of brotherly love has now become the city of enmity—cowardly, active, ferocious enmity, toward the advocates of inalienable human rights, and all whose complexions are incompatible with freedom in this republican and christian land!

We proceed to give some particulars of the awful scenes which have transpired in that fallen city within the last ten days, and which will bring down upon it the retributive justice of Heaven. Henceforth, Philadelphia is to be ranked with Boston, and New York, and Utica, and Alton, as the enemy of liberty, the scorner of the poor and needy, the contemner of law, and the assassin of bleeding humanity. They have since humbled themselves—will she continue incorrigible?

Having witnessed the anniversaries at New York we proceeded to Philadelphia, agreeably to the request of many dear friends in that city, in order to be present at the dedication of a new and spacious edifice which had just been completed in North Sixth-street, between Cherry and Race, in support of Free Discussion, Liberty, Virtue, and Independence. Almost three years had transpired since our last visit, in company with the stout-hearted and eloquent GEORGE THOMPSON, whose voice is now stirring all England with its trumpet-tones against the last remnant of British slavery, the cruel apprenticeship. What eventful years had these been—and how crowded with lawless violence, with persecution for righteousness' sake, with universal insanity, with frightful conflict and glorious victory! The land had been daily shaken with an earthquake, till all that was mortal—perishable—doomed to an utter overthrow, had felt its foundation of 'hay, wood and stubble' giving way—to the wild consternation and lively horror of Priests in unsanctified canonicals, of Doctors of Divinity no longer oracular, of Politicians seeking the 'one thing needful,' office, of Tyrants merciless as starved hyenas prowling for the dead! Terrible things had been seen—more hideous, because revealed in such clear light, the noon of the nineteenth century. Dire outrages had been committed against Law, upon Truth and Innocence, by a tribunal more infuriate and less merciful than the Inquisition. Such grapplings of Truth with Error—such conflicts of Liberty with Slavery—such mustering of Physical Force, with its magazine of brickbats and rotten eggs, and missiles indescribable and staggering rank-and-file, to overcome Ethereal Light—the world had scarcely ever seen. Most unequal struggle, yet rampant and fearful! Almost within sight of Plymouth Rock, upon which the Pilgrims first planted their weary feet—on the soil of Massachusetts, sprinkled with heroic blood—at the very base of Bunker Hill—in the city of Boston, and under the shadow of Faneuil Hall—the most eloquent among men, the most intrepid of reformers, the man of circular philanthropy, without division, section or boundary in its outgoings, filling the globe as doth a vital atmosphere—the Benefactor of Europe, Africa and America—had been hunted for his life as is a partridge upon the mountains, like the worst of felons, the most hideous of monsters! So he shook off the dust of his feet as a testimony against the murderous spirit of the land, and returned to prosecute his godlike work in his own country. We, too, had been somewhat exposed to peril—had suffered violence at the hands of a frantic multitude, immortalized as 'gentlemen of property and standing'—has been thrust into prison, not for crime, but, in sober truth, as a friendly device to save us from destruction! But we may not dwell upon these things.

Those three years which had elapsed, and to which allusion has been made, are not to be chronicled in a hasty editorial paragraph. We leave them to the historian.

We arrived in the city of Penn on the 14th inst. What sobriety of behaviour, what an air of tranquillity what order and regularity, on the part of its inhabitants! All is square-built, judicious, prudent, complacent, comfortable. The very animals in the streets tread along the pavements deliberately—for even animal excitement is deemed pernicious 'agitation,' though God designs it for good. Those broad, cleanly, far-reaching streets, extending undeviatingly from the Delaware to the Schuylkill,—those stately, beautiful blocks of buildings, with marble door-steps, and marble fronts, and marble porticoes, (peradventure some of their occupants have marble hearts, polished like a mirror, but cold and stone-like),—those ornamental squares, the joint achievements of Nature and Art, where the dead spires of grass are springing into life at the resurrection call of Spring, and buds and blossoms are covering the nakedness of parental branches with more than filial dutifulness—how all these serve to make Philadelphia the queen of American cities!

The population is immense—but how methodical in all their movements! They walk, they run, they turn round, they advance, they retreat, by rule—right angles all! One bustling, jostling spirit would disturb the repose of the city. Necessity alone tolerates the fire-enkindling cries of the dealers in charcoal, and the piscivorous propensities engendered by the screams of fish-women. All else is 'quietude.' Impossible, therefore, that these appearances shall prove deceitful! that this repose is merely the stagnation of moral life! that, under its cover, the murderous spirit of caste, all-grasping selfishness, and every evil passion, are latent, coiled up like snakes, torpid for want of heat! Nous verrons. It may be, before a week shall have gone by, most marvellous and disgraceful developments will have been made, and riot and arson become prevalent throughout the city! May Heaven forefend!

The city swarms with meeting-houses, sacredly styled 'houses of God.' It is, therefore, a religious city! Its public halls are numerous, to accommodate all classes of men, for every variety of purpose. It is, too, a Free Discussion city! But, no. Those houses of God are but houses of men, built by contract as conceived by some premium-excited architect, sold by the square foot at public vendue to the highest bidder, in which the man with a gold ring, in goodly apparel, sits in a good place, and the poor man in vile raiment stands on the confines of gentility, and the black man is thrust into a pen, like a dangerous beast—all devout worshippers of the God who is no respecter of persons!

No marvel that the doors of those houses are all bolted and barred against those who call for the abrogation of caste, and the elevation of down-trodden humanity.

As to the public halls, if you want to 'jump Jim Crow,' or work mischief to morality, or plead in favor of slavery as a divine institution, or advocate the expatriation of the negroes to Africa, you may have your choice of them. But if your object be, the universal emancipation of your race from chains and servitude, presume not to think of occupying the meanest of them all! No fear of God, no regard for suffering man, no amount of compensation, can open one of them, that the sublimest enterprise of the age may be advocated therein. Is not the city quiet as a sleeping tortoise? Why then seek to disturb it? What evil so terrible as 'agitation'? What hydra more rapacious than free discussion? What though human beings, bearing upon their brow the image of the Eternal, are constantly seized by legal, keen-scented bloodhounds (within sight of that famous old hall from which some sixty years ago went forth that yet more famous Declaration of man's inalienable right to liberty,) thrust into prison, loaded with chains, and hurried into slavery? All this is consistent with good order and blissful quiescence! Above all, why should Friends be urged to awake out of sleep? Did not George Fox, and William Penn, and Robert Barclay, trouble the peace of the world enough to suffice till the crack of doom? Did they not, like the Catholic saints, have a large stock of merit, above their own wants, which they bequeathed as a legacy to their followers? Do not modern Friends still cherish a grammatical regard for the 'King's English,' and loyally refuse to say you for thou? Are they not punctilious in dress, with all mechanical accuracy and independent imitation? Being well-regulated in their own Society, why should they trouble themselves about the sins of other people?

'Let every tub stand on its own bottom.'

There being, then, no hall or meeting-house profane enough to admit of free discussion, in all that city, it was determined, on the part of some choice spirits, (a majority of them mechanics and working-men,) to erect a building, sacred to Liberty and the freedom of speech.

Bravely they went to work—industriously did they toil—liberal were their contributions. At length, the finishing stroke was given—and a noble superstructure, majestic in its simplicity, challenged the admiration of the world as the grandest monument of moral enterprise to be found on the American continent. It was not quite complete on our arrival. The painter was busy with his brush, and the clock-maker putting a time piece into operation, and the gas-regulator arranging his pipes. Accompanied by one of its managers, we examined it thoroughly, with pleasure and admiration. The basement story was sub-divided into a variety of apartments, chiefly intended for stores—one being reserved as a convenient lecture room, and another as an anti-slavery depository. It was estimated that the larger hall would seat more than two thousand persons, there being three spacious galleries. The furniture was selected and arranged with much taste. Over the platform was printed in gilt capitals the motto of Pennsylvania, 'VIRTUE, LIBERTY and INDEPENDENCE.'

The total cost of the building was about $40,000, divided into two thousand shares of twenty dollars each—a number of the stockholders being women.

On Monday forenoon, the 14th inst. the hall was crowded by a most orderly and intelligent audience, to witness the ceremony of dedication. The orator selected for the occasion was David Paul Brown, a popular member of the bar in Philadelphia, distinguished for his literary attainments and rhetorical powers. For many years, he has given much of his time, and all his legal ability, 'without money and without price,' to succor persons arrested as fugitive slaves, and to deliver 'him that was spoiled, out of the hand of the oppressor'—nobly refusing to receive any compensation. But his humanity is local, not universal. Before he commenced his address, letters were read from Francis James and Thaddeus Stevens, of the Pennsylvania legislature, Theodore D. Weld, Gerrit Smith, John Quincy Adams and N. S. S. Beman, all expressive of regret that their authors could not be present to assist in the dedicatory services, and every one of them worthy of that sublime occasion: that of Mr. Adams was faithful and forcible in the highest degree, and elicited great applause. On rising to address the assembly, Mr. Brown was received with enthusiastic approbation. His oration was a splendid performance, impressively delivered, but marred and crippled by a glaring violation of its own principles. The larger portion of it was full of invincible truth, withering satire, and godlike philanthropy—a triumphant defence of the equality of the whole human race, and man's inalienable rights He showed that slavery is incompatible with the dictates of humanity, the claims of justice, and the permanence of republican institutions—ridiculed and refuted the charge, that abolitionists are fanatics and incendiaries—declared that there can be no slaves without there being despots—that the Declaration of Independence settles the controversy as to the right of every man to enjoy liberty, unless it can be proved that the slaves are not men—that it could not be moral treason to aim at the suppression of immorality—that slaveholders are trampling upon northern rights—that southern gasconading about a dissolution of the Union should no longer be submitted to—that in the sack of the South are found the silver cup, the thirty pieces of silver, the price of blood—that the sentiment of McDuffie, that 'slavery is the corner-stone of our republican edifice,' is deserving of a halter or a madhouse—and that the friends of emancipation seek a peaceful overthrow of slavery, leaving violence to be used exclusively by the supporters of that brutal system.

The scheme of African colonization he said had fearfully failed, and the execrations of suffering thousands are resting upon it. He compared it to the fiddling of Nero while Rome was burning. Practically, colonization is death. The attempt is making to found a republic upon a yawning sepulchre. He would not call the opponents of the anti-slavery cause fanatics—but let them defend themselves, if they can, against the charge of insanity or impiety. He eulogized the conduct of England, in giving freedom to her slaves. England acts up to her creed of universal liberty. We adopt her vices, but will not imitate her virtues. She has made an atonement—where is our own? England, it is said, entailed the curse of slavery upon us—but she could not compel us to submit to taxation without representation! He related several anecdotes respecting persons of color, and paid an eloquent tribute to the memory of the lamented Thomas Shipley, the friend of the colored race. He said he would rather be one of the late Reform Convention, who voted against disfranchising the colored citizens of that State, than one of the Spartan band at Thermopylæ. They will be hailed by posterity. For an hour and a half, the orator wielded a glittering, two-edged sword, and every blow was fatal to Slavery and Colonization. But, suddenly, he turned the blade upon the goddess of Liberty, and stabbed her to the heart. In other words, he endorsed some of the worst heresies of the old school of gradualism, and talked as incoherently as does one smitten with insanity. O what a fall was there!' Up to that moment, he had secured the smiles and the reiterated applauses of the audience; but a visible change was observable in almost every countenance as he proceeded—and at the conclusion of his address, they felt as if that hall needed a new dedication, and another baptism in the names of 'Virtue, Liberty, and Independence.'

A baptism of fire, it seems, awaited it!

[Of the subsequent meetings in the hall—the tumult on Wednesday evening, and the destruction of the Hall on Thursday evening, our limits will not permit us to speak to-day; but our columns are crowded with information on this subject, extracted from the newspapers. We shall attempt a description next week.]